


lonely with you

by ConvenientAlias



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo (Whump Fics) [6]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Touch-Starved, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 19:52:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15347439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: After her traumatic experiences in Paris, Christine doesn't want anyone to touch her. Meanwhile, Raoul has lost the support of his family, who used to touch him all the time.





	lonely with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ponderinfrustration](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/gifts).



The night that Christine and Raoul escape Erik’s clutches, the night they run from the sewers and up into the city, Christine clings to Raoul and he clings to her. They cannot stop holding onto each other all day afterwards, too frightened. They need to steady each other. Christine is wrapped around Raoul’s arm when he arranges for their voyage to Sweden, and he is at her back when they board.

They have a shared room that night. Their claim is that they are already married (Raoul couldn’t afford two rooms, not with the meager money he had for their escape from Paris) and there is only one bed. Christine tells Raoul, “You can have it.”

He convinces her to take it instead. He sleeps on the floor.

The next day when he wakes up, she is already dressed and walking the deck. He goes to her cautiously and says, “We are now a ways from France.”

“Yes,” she says. “That is good.”

When he reaches out to touch her back, she flinches. So he withdraws his arm. She smiles at him with a combination of shame and gratitude. He says, “You don’t want me to touch you, Christine?”

“For now,” she says, “I would rather you not.”

He nods, and that is that.

It might be different, if one of them got seasick and the other had to nurse them back to health. But Christine has crossed the ocean before and used to live on the coast, and Raoul, who planned to join the navy once, has plenty of experience with boats. They’re both perfectly capable of carrying on without assistance. By the end of the week it seems ludicrous that they were ever so physically intimate, and they are well used to each other’s boundaries.

Christine explains it to Raoul, in the dark hours that they lie awake in their room. (He is in the bed tonight, as she has insisted they take turns.) “It is not that I’m scared of you, Raoul.”

“I’m glad.”

“I know you would never hurt me. But… for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about _him_.” Her voice has a shiver to it. “He touched me. He didn’t really…hurt me…but…”

“He hurt you enough,” Raoul says. He wants to take her hand, but he keeps his hands folded under his blanket. “I will never touch you unless you ask me to, Christine.”

He promises her. It’s a promise he keeps.

He does not need Christine to touch him to know she loves him. They have long, winding conversations at night, and all day they are together. They play cards or chat with the sailors who are off duty or sit on deck and watch the sea. They are barely outside each other’s sight. He knows she loves him. They are there for each other. It is only…

There is a physicality to loneliness.

He wraps his coat tightly around himself. He touches sailors’ arms, shakes their hands at times or jostles into them clumsily, even allows the drunkenly affectionate ones to embrace him. The moments of contact are gone too fast no matter what he does.

He hopes Christine doesn’t notice.

It isn’t her touch he’s missing, really. At first he thinks it is. But on nights when she is asleep and he is still awake, he knows he misses Philippe. He misses hands ruffling his hair or straightening his jacket, hugs when he has inevitable breakdowns over the latest piece of drama, encouraging pats on the back and a hand on his arm to steady him when they’re meeting important personages. And he misses his mother’s lingering hugs, the smell of her powder, and his sisters quick cheek-kisses and arm-pinches when he’s not on guard. He’s never been without his family before.

“Do you think Philippe is really dead?” he asks Christine. They read the news, they know the police are searching for him. But it doesn’t feel real. He never saw the body, never attended the funeral. Even were he to do those things, he’s not sure he could ever believe Philippe to be dead.

Christine says, “I think his soul is with the angels.”                                     

He swallows and imagines on the back of his neck a feather-light touch.

* * *

 

In Sweden, Christine has a cottage, or rather, the Daae family does. It is the cottage she grew up in, located by the seaside and owned by her and some cousins who don’t really use it. She writes to the cousins and they give her permission to use it as she pleases—it’s too run down for them to care. It’s probably a passing thought to them, but to her and to Raoul, it is everything.

Christine knows a priest who will marry them immediately, without the waiting period  couples generally require. He’s not a very reputable priest—in fact, Christine confides in Raoul, he’s something of a drunk—but as a reputable priest would think twice before marrying a nice local girl to a supposed killer, it’s really all for the best.

Raoul says, “Are you sure you want this, Christine?”

Christine blinks at him. “I thought you wanted to marry me.”

“I told you if you wanted, I would bring you to the ends of the earth, and then leave. I don’t want you to marry me because I rescued you. I did that because I love you. But if you want, I will leave.” He has nowhere to turn, but running eternally is better than settling with someone because you have no other choice.

Christine says, “In case you’ve forgotten, Raoul, you didn’t rescue me. I rescued you. I offered my life to that madman for your sake.” She reaches out a hand to him, but only halfway. It hovers over his shoulder. “I want to marry you.”

At the priest’s permission and Christine’s nod, Raoul gives her a quick peck on the lips. On the coach ride back to the cottage, they are careful that their knees do not touch.

It is springtime in Sweden. Christine works to remake the house’s garden, which is an utter disaster. Raoul helps when he can, but he’s gotten a job in town hauling barrels and other supplies at the local dock. On his days off they work together or talk, or occasionally, he runs down to the bar.

There are crowds of people there. Crowds, and in crowds he can lose himself. He is nearly crushed by the pack of humanity, the smell and the warmth and the _feel_ of men pressing around him until he nearly loses his sense of self. He’ll spend an evening there talking and then stumble out more drunk on human contact than on booze. As he wanders home he sometimes passes women who make eyes at him in the streets. They’re more tempting than he’d like to admit.

He hasn’t slept with Christine. They haven’t shared a bed, or kissed, or touched more than a graze of fingertips handing each other dishes or rakes when they work in the garden. It’s fine for him as long as he can touch the men at the bar or at work. He still mourns but he’s not as lonely as he might be, most of the time. He worries about Christine.

Some nights he hears her in her room breaking down, crying. He goes in and says comforting things to her and listens to her sob out her misery. Then he feels utterly inadequate that he cannot hold her in his arms. But she never asks him to.

He made a promise. It hurts him to keep it.

But as summer turns into fall, Christine becomes less jumpy. She cries less, a little. She has started going to a women’s sewing group two nights a week. It meets at different houses. She knows half the women in town.

One day she says, after coming home from the group, “You are still lonely, Raoul.”

He shrugs. “It is a new place for me. But it is our home.” He will grow used to it.

She says, “I wish you weren’t so lonely. Is there something you should tell me?”

“No. We talk about everything. We’re fine, Christine. I just…”

She looks at him patiently.

“I miss my family.” He shrugs again. “I miss people touching me.” He rubs his forehead. “But I’ll be fine.”

She nods, and there is a spark of an idea in her eyes.

The next time the women’s group meets is four days later. Christine comes home a little early with a basket. She hands it to Raoul. In the basket is a tiny black kitten.

Raoul picks it up.

It is small, and soft, and warm. It scrambles a little in his hands but doesn’t exactly try to break free, more to get a foothold, which he offers with one arm. He holds it close to his chest. “Ah. I knew you were scheming something.”

“Widow Karlsson can’t take any more cats, her house is crowded enough. I thought you wouldn’t mind another member of our family.” She smiles. “He could sleep in bed with you. I know you could use company.”

Raoul strokes the cat gently. “It’s a good idea.”

Christine touches his arm gently for just a moment before taking her hand away. “I’m glad you like him.”

“I love him,” Raoul says, then, with a cheesy grin, “I love you.”

She laughs. “Silly.” But her eyes are bright and a bit wet.

**Author's Note:**

> Cats solve everything.  
> Well, not everything. But they do help.  
> This fic was written for the prompt of "touch starved Raoul" for Bad Things Happen to Good People Bingo.


End file.
